Two and One
by Iridia
Summary: When a deranged and bitter woman comes to Rivendell, Elrond's young twin sons will need all the strength and unity they have to survive. COMPLETE! R&R please!
1. Evening

Author's Note: I have never been bitten by a plot bunny quite so hard as I was bitten today... thanks to the MC group for giving me these ideas!

Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. Unfortunately.

**Two and One**

**By Iridia**

"No, 'Dan," said the little elf. "You have to put your fingers like this, and hold your arm up straight."

Another elf, identical in all but subtle ways to the first, frowned and adjusted his hands on the child's bow he held. His face, just losing the chubbiness of childhood, was furrowed in concentration, and just the tip of his tongue showed between his lips. His brother, who stood next to him, demonstrating, wore the same expression as he watched.

Elladan concentrated, eyes on the target, and slowly, he pulled the bowstring back, held it there, and then let go. His twin brother Elrohir, as he watched, mimed Elladan's actions, as though demonstrating. When the arrow flew towards the target, and stuck near its center--a respectable shot for an elf so young--it might have been either one of them who had released the arrow, save that only one actually held a bow.

Up in the balcony, his arm around his wife's waist, Elrond watched. A fond smile touched his lips. "Quite the little warriors, aren't they?" he said.

Celebrian was watching her sons intently. "It's as though they don't even realize there are two of them," she said thoughtfully.

"One soul... two bodies..." murmured Elrond. Just as he and Elros had been. That memory did not bring him grief now; he had long ago ceased to mourn his brother, and now remembered him with fondness.

"Hmm, yes," she said, smiling. "Just that."

* * *

Down in the courtyard, the twins had finished their supply of arrows and were running to collect those they had shot. Most of them had stuck firmly in the target; but some had sailed on beyond. They made a game of finding these, shouting to each other, competing to see who got the most. Finally, Elladan won--by one arrow--and the two elflings made their way back, intending to shoot some more.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" called Celebrian. Two identical faces swiveled up to look at her. "Come in; it's nearly time to eat!"

"Please, Nana, just one more time?" Elladan asked.

"Yes, we're getting lots better," said Elrohir. "We'll be great warriors some day, and we need to practice."

"Ah, then," Elrond said, "Your mother and I will just have to eat all the honey-cakes ourselves."

The twins dashed for the door, talking over each other's words in their eagerness.

"Honey--"

--cakes?"

"Wait--"

"--for us!"

After making the twins go back for their bows and arrows ("Good warriors do not leave their weapons behind," he sternly admonished them), Elrond followed them to the small dining room they used when there were no important guests to entertain in the Great Hall.

Dinner was a noisy affair, with the young elves recounting tales of their skill with their bows, and their elders nodding, smiling, and now and again keeping an elbow out of a bowl of vegetables or a strand of hair out of a tureen of gravy. The promised honey-cakes, however, quieted the twins' chatter a good deal; and it was a sticky, contented pair of elflings whom Celebrian ushered from the table.

There was a knock at the door. "Yes?" Elrond said.

The door opened, and a tall elf entered. As all the guards of Rivendell did, she wore light armor, and the scabbard belted around her waist held a sword. She nodded his respect to Elrond and said, "There's a woman at the gates, of the race of Men. She says she wants a meal and a bed; and she's offered to work for them, if we want."

"Let her in," Elrond replied. "I'll not refuse anyone aid. Is she strong enough to do the work she offers to do?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond," the guard said. She knew Elrond was not attempting to take advantage of the woman. Humans were often a proud race; many of them, no matter how poor, would not take anything they had not earned--while others, pretending to be poor, tried to live on the charity of others. In either case, Elrond knew, it was best to let the woman earn her keep, and keep her pride.

"Have one of the guest rooms made ready," Elrond said, "and tomorrow, she may help the cooks with breakfast."

The guard had expected this response; but she had wanted to be sure nevertheless. Humans were a mixed lot; some good, some evil; and any dealings with them had to be conducted with caution.

* * *

Mara took up her small bundle of belongings and followed the guard to the room she had mentioned. "This is such a beautiful place," she said. "Who rules here?"

"The Lord Elrond," replied the guard proudly. She did not see Mara's small smile of triumph.

The human followed the elf to a room with a large window and simple, elegant furniture--pine, Mara thought to herself, and well-made, too...

"Ring this bell if you need anything," the guard replied, showing her a small brass instrument. "I will be just down the hall; and you had best get some sleep; the cooks start early."

"When do you want me to work, then?" she inquired.

"They'll have someone call you, I think," the guard said. "Do you have need of anything else?"

"No," Mara replied. "Thank you."

The guard nodded as she closed the door on her way out.

Mara took a cautious step forward into the room, placed her bundle down on a chair, and sank carefully onto the bed.

Alone again, she thought to herself. Always, always alone...

She stopped those thoughts with great exertion, and forced herself to summon a burst of anger and think instead of the snobbish elf-woman who had conducted her to her room.

It had been such an effort not to slap the pretentious guard across the face! They thought nothing of humans; never had, never would. The elves took pleasure in the humans' pain, and most likely, tomorrow they would make a laughing-stock of her, the scullery-drudge, the dirty, stupid human.

Well, that was as it had to be. She would endure their taunts, yes; and she would put on the face of the innocent, trusting woman who had no inkling of the elves' true evil!--but then, ah, yes, then she would show them.

She found herself too angry to sleep. That was good; in sleep were the nightmares she could never shake, could never be rid of. She sprang from the bed and began pacing the room, her booted feet crushing the fibers of the rugs as she walked over them. She would have to know the layout of this place, and of the people who lived here. Especially, she would have to find out all she could about the one called Elrond.

Elrond... that name sent a fresh surge of rage through her. If it were not for him, her family... little Callie--

'No. Do not think about that,' she ordered herself, shutting that part of her mind with practiced firmness. She turned her thoughts once again to her plans.

* * *

Closing the book softly, Celebrian looked down at the two sleeping elflings. Their faces had relaxed into the peace of sleep, their eyelids half-closed. They were beautiful, she thought; the best sons in all of Arda.

The twins were identical in appearance, but their mother had no trouble telling them apart. Elladan, the oldest, was an intelligent youngster with a gentle heart and a love of learning, healing, and the stories of the old days. He had appointed himself his brother's protector; and though Elrohir sometimes chafed at the idea of his minutes-older brother as a guide, both of them seemed to regard the arrangement as something that was the way it ought to be. In Elladan, Celebrian could see the beginnings of Elrond's wisdom, strength, intelligence, and compassion.

Elrohir was different. He, too, had received the heritage of his father; but the younger twin had been given the traits of Elrond the warrior. He far outmatched any other elfling his age in swordplay, archery, and riding; only Elladan, with his twin as private tutor, could hope to match him. Already, Elrohir's young mind showed a grasp of strategy and tactics that amazed his teachers. And, though the youngster was untried and untested, Celebrian could see in the young elf the courage of a budding warrior.

They complemented each other, like two halves of a whole, like two pieces of the same puzzle. They each knew what the other was thinking and feeling; they completed each other's sentences; and each intuitively knew, in mock battles or games, what the other would do next. Elladan's insight perfectly complemented Elrohir's zest for life; Elladan protected his brother emotionally, even as Elrohir tutored him in the arts of warfare.

'One soul in two bodies,' Celebrian thought to herself, as she softly closed the door to the twins' bedchamber. Yes; that was so.

* * *

During the next day, the elves assigned to kitchen duty that day came to appreciate Mara's competent, cheerful help. Though they were a bit worried about the dark circles under her eyes, and inquired whether she had slept well, she assured them that, yes, she had never had a better bed.

The human woman seemed to be everywhere; carrying and fetching, scouring pots and pans, carefully turning newly-baked cakes out of their pans and onto clean plates. She seemed fascinated with elves, and asked many questions, especially about Elrond and his family.

Of the twins, they had plenty to tell her; the youngsters' antics had amused and exasperated every inhabitant of Rivendell by turns, and it wasn't long before Mara had heard a dozen accounts of elfling pranks and babyish escapades. Over boiling applesauce, simmering stew, and lumps of rising bread dough, she learned that Elrond's young sons were the darlings of everyone in Rivendell. They were even, it seemed, loved by the cook who had been splattered with green paint, and by the maiden whose squirrel-chewed dress would never be quite the same.

Mara stored their accounts in her mind, careful to analyze each one for every bit of information it contained. Slowly, with that information and the camouflage a cook's apron provided, she built up a mental map of Rivendell--its guard rooms, its libraries, its gardens, and, most importantly, its sleeping chambers. And, by the end of the day, she knew exactly what she had to do.

TBC...

* * *

**REVIEWS:**

**Daeomae:** Yep, a cliffie. Evil, aren't I? :)

**Tinkerbell:** I shall continue the story as long as people review (or until it's finished).


	2. Twilight

**Two and One**

**by Iridia  
  
Chapter 2**

The next day, the twins were brought in for dinner, chattering to each other in half-sentences and smelling strongly of horse. Their mother whisked them quickly upstairs, protesting, for a change of clothes and a wash; for, in honor of the first day of autumn, dinner was to be served in the Great Hall. Celebrian was determined that her children would, at least today, be presentable.  
  
Mara, after having spent most of the day working, had been persuaded to go out into the gardens and enjoy herself. Now she sat, dressed in a simple elvish dress much nicer than the faded rags she had arrived in, at the long head table with Elrond's family.  
  
"I shall take this occasion to formally welcome you to my home," Elrond said to her. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you have need; or, if you wish, we will lend you a horse and an escort to one of the nearby human villages. We are due a visit from the Rangers soon; they know more about the villages than I, and may be able to tell you where to find work."  
  
"Thank you, my lord," Mara said shyly, and glanced down at her plate.  
  
Mara looked strangely familiar to Elrond; but he couldn't place where he had seen her. After a moment, Elrond realized he was staring and averted his eyes. 'Strange,' he thought to himself. 'I am sure I have met her before…'  
  
The human woman seemed, Elrond thought, to be a timid sort of woman; or perhaps, as some humans were, she was just awed by the presence of elves. She looked perhaps forty years old--Elrond wasn't too sure of this, as he had little practice determining human ages--and her face, once pretty, was careworn. Her eyes, in the brief moment Elrond had allowed himself to meet them, had held a strange, feral expression the elf lord could not decipher. Mara had, he decided, been hurt some time in the past; perhaps Rivendell would work its healing magic once again, as it often did. He hoped so.

* * *

It was dark. Through the long window in Mara's room, only the stars shone; today, the moon was new and the night a velvet-black. She waited, sitting stiffly in the wooden chair.  
  
Pine, she thought, running her hand across the smooth wood. The memories came unbidden to the part of her mind she closed off; and before she slammed the door on them once again, a few trickled through: The smell of freshly hewn wood; the whisper of a broom across the floor of a workshop; shavings of wood swirling through the air; the rhythmic sounds of saw and hammer. And, on the tools, there were hands... strong, calloused hands, each as big as two of Mara's own--  
  
And then she clamped down on her mind; and the memories vanished.  
  
It was late enough now; they would all be asleep.  
  
Mara stood. She had removed her boots and outer dress; now she wore only her shift and stockings. Nearly soundless after long practice, she stole out of the room and down the hall, a ghost in white.  
  
"Do you need help?" the guard said, stepping out from behind a corner.  
  
Smoothly, Mara turned to face her. "Yes," she said, "I was told how beautiful the gardens look in the starlight; and I could not sleep, so I wanted to go and see them."  
  
The guard smiled. "They are, indeed, beautiful," she said. "Do you know the way?"  
  
"Yes, I have been there already," Mara said. "I shall be able to find my way easily."  
  
The guard nodded, and Mara made her way down the hallway again.  
  
If her mental map was correct, Mara knew, the entrance to the gardens would be in the same wing as the bed-chambers of the Lord Elrond and his family.  
  
Now, so close to victory, Mara permitted herself a slight smile. They would see, she thought; they would see what it was like to lose so much that was close to you. They would pay...  
  
In the twins' bedchamber, Elrohir woke slightly, his sleep disturbed by a sound he could not identify. He tried to go back to sleep; but he found he was thirsty. Finally, he rolled over and put his feet on the floor, intending to go to find some water. Elladan stirred, but an unspoken assurance from his brother told him to go back to sleep.  
  
Hardly had Elrohir exited the room and turned the corner when Mara entered and gazed down at the remaining, sleeping, elfling.  
  
There was only one of them, Mara saw. Only one...  
  
She would have to wait.

* * *

Black hair, spread out on the pillow... the rising and falling chest of the elfling... the pink lips, the round cheeks... Mara was fascinated. It was so like her little--  
  
She was going to shut her mind against the memories again; but this time, they were so forceful that it was impossible.  
  
Callie... my Callie... so young, so beautiful, so innocent... long, black, smooth hair, to braid in the mornings and brush out in the evenings... tiny, bare feet, chasing a ball, riding a stick-horse... the horse's head, carved to life-like perfection out of a piece of wood...  
  
Pine... butter-colored, so silky-smooth you never worried about splinters or rough places... hands, shaping that wood as though it were clay, into so many beautiful and useful things... a rough, kind face that smiled down at her, a big arm pulling her into an embrace... Happiness, a foreign concept now, in a tiny town of farmers and craftsmen, a peaceful place...  
  
Peace--another foreign concept, though she had taken it for granted for so long; for now she saw that same hand that had once shaped the wood. Instead, it was clenched around a sword-hilt, such a foreign tool to such a peaceful hand.  
  
There were angry, bestial faces, and crude weapons, and fear; and then the big hands she so loved were clutching at the cloth of a shirt, stained a sticky red.  
  
And Callie... beautiful, innocent Callie... a rusty scimitar... deep, horrid gashes in her tiny chest, the look of disbelief on her face--the look that was a sword no less real in her mother's heart than the blade that had caused her daughter's agonizing death... and screams, only screams, so loud and so long that Mara could not believe a human being could produce them. But a human being had... she had.  
  
And then there were elves... elves, too late and too few... fighting a desperate retreat, disappearing into the woods, and the attackers running off into the woods after them when they fled... and later on, more elves, burying the dead... burying little Callie, innocent Callie...  
  
A scene struck her mind, crystal-clear; the elf, this Elrond, had not saved them; he had laughed at their horror, rejoiced in their pain... Oh, she had not heard him laugh; but she knew he was laughing, behind those seemingly compassionate eyes.  
  
"We are deeply sorry we did not know earlier," the treacherous elf had said. But they had not been sorry, Mara knew; they had been hidden away, feasting in honor of the first day of autumn, while her daughter died.  
  
Oh, they said, yes, that they had not known, and that the first group had been a patrol too small to defeat the enemy, and could only lead them away. The elves had claimed that only later could they bring their full strength to bear against the little town's attackers; but she knew better.  
  
They had done it on purpose. They reveled in death, loved destruction. Even the heavy losses they had supposedly taken in "defense" of her village were part of their game. They were no better than the beasts who had attacked them; most likely, they were in league with them.  
  
And now, they would know what she had known: what it had beem like to lose all that she loved...  
  
Mara snapped out of her reverie, all sense of control washed away in a single moment. Gone was the mask she had worn: The cheerful, hard-working woman the elves in the kitchens had so loved was dead; in their place was something less than human.  
  
She looked down, now, and saw the brat of the one who had killed her child, her dear, black-haired daughter; and she felt no more grief; only the blind, desperate rage of a cornered animal.  
  
Her right hand came out of the folds of her white shift; and in it flashed a large knife, the kind the cooks used to cut up meat. As though in a dream, she raised it, then brought it down, raised it again, mechanically. Blood--black in the heavy darkness--stained the sheets.  
  
TBC...

* * *

**Reviews:**

Anorwen: Freaking you out, huh? I must be doing _something_ right!

Tinkerbell: Evil woman? Oh, you mean me! Thank you! :)


	3. Midnight

Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. Unfortunately.

  
**Two and One  
By Iridia**

**Chapter 3**

Elrond woke with a start; a shrill cry had pierced the night; a familiar voice cut straight to the elf-lord's bones. He bolted upright, a knife appearing in his hand; next to him, Celebrian had already vaulted out of bed. He followed her out the door and to the elflings' bedchamber. 

What he saw there, he could hardly believe; but Elrond's war-honed senses stood him in good stead, analyzing the situation quickly and completely even as the part of him that was a father to his children still stumbled in disbelief.

There was the woman, the one who had looked so familiar; there was Elladan, half-upright in bed. The boy's scream of pain choked in his throat as the woman, a horrible look of bestial rage on her face, plunged a knife through an already-bloody sheet.

Elrond would have run forward to protect his son if it had not been for the woman's animal reflexes. In a second, she had the knife to Elladan's throat, and her other hand around a handful of the young elf's raven-black hair, lifting his head and shoulders brutally off the pillow.

Elladan, completely awake now, had become aware of what was going on; his face was white, but his gaze was steady.

"Move," Mara hissed, "and he's dead."

"But... why?" Elrond could only say.

"I want you to suffer as I suffered," Mara said. "I want you to feel the pain of losing your child. You did not prevent my Callie's death; it is only fair that you feel the death of your own son."

Then Elrond recognized her; and he remembered the battle, ten years past; and the tiny town, decimated by an orc attack before the arrival of the patrol that finally managed to lead the orcs away from their prey. Mara was older, now, and harder; and the light of madness in her eyes spoke of grief long suppressed.

"We could not prevent it... please believe me, Mara; we tried. I would have gladly given my own life to save your daughter."

Elladan could sense that the woman who held a knife to his throat did not believe his father; she was beyond believing in anything good, anything beautiful. Past all logic, the young elfling wanted, somehow, to comfort this woman, this poor, deranged creature who knew no hope. The horrible, painful heaviness in his chest did not allow him to speak much; but he managed it.

"I am sorry Callie died," he whispered. "Father says that Men who die are safe in Eru's hands." Elrond was trying to quiet him, but Elladan ignored his father. "I think Callie is happy," he said, "and I think she wants you to be happy."

A drop of blood stained the corner of his mouth, and he gasped for breath.

A high, keening scream pierced the air; it began deep in Mara's throat, and filled the room. Her hand shook. The part of Mara, long-buried, the part that remembered hope, could only stare in horror at what she had done... But the new, strong, fierce Mara, the woman who held the knife, would not permit her to take control. One part of Mara wanted to kill... the other part wanted to die.

As Mara struggled within herself, the weapon trembled, as though unsure whether to drop to the ground or cut into the tender skin of the young elfling. Finally, Mara's eyes hardened; and it was obvious who had won the battle. She gripped the knife firmly once again; the muscles in her forearm tensed as she prepared to cut Elladan's throat.

* * *

Elrohir, too, had heard his brother's cry, though he hardly needed it; for all his other senses screamed through their twins' bond that his brother was in danger. His chest burning with an odd, sharp pain, he ran swiftly back to their bedroom.

As he turned the corner, he slowed and walked silently towards the door. He saw his parents skidding up to the door; heard Mara's threat. His heart leaped up into his throat; but he fought off the fear. He had to help his brother!

Ducking silently into the next room, which served as the twins' playroom, he brought out his small bow and arrows. So silently did Elrohir approach the doorway, and so loud was Mara's scream, that no one heard the elfling approach.

Elrohir took a shuddering breath at the sight of Mara and his brother; then, ruthlessly banishing his fear and shock, he planted his feet in the proper stance and put an arrow to the string.

Carefully, the elfling pulled the bowstring back, just the way he had taught Elladan; and when he released it, the arrow, with a soft "twang", flew between his parents and into the room. It imbedded itself in Mara's chest.

The woman shuddered, fell to her knees, and collapsed half on the bed, half off it.

In the confusion, no one but Elladan saw that, as she took her last breath, she said a single word: "Callie?"

And, as he heard that word, Elladan's world went black.

* * *

Elrond rushed to his son's side. Elladan's head had dropped to the pillow; but he found that his son was still breathing--barely. The blood that had stained his lips was now running down the corner of his mouth and onto the pillow.

Someone brought a candle; and Elrond heard himself gasp as he saw the full extent of his tiny son's injuries. There were three punctures in the sheet; three in Elladan's clothing; and three in Elladan himself. One had opened a deep gash in his arm; the other two pierced the right side of the elfling's chest. All three were bleeding profusely.

Celebrian was already running for healing supplies when Elrond demanded them; while he waited for her, he used the sheets to staunch some of the bleeding.

Elrohir's bow clattered on the ground, and he rushed onto the bed, grasping and holding his brother's uninjured hand with a desperate strength. His young face showed deep concentration; and he ignored the dull pain in his own chest and arm, willing his brother to live.

"Lord Elrond, shall I take the other young one?" the guard holding the candle inquired. Desperation flickered across Elrohir's face at that; but he could not break his concentration for a second to protest.

"No," Elrond said shortly. "Let him stay."

Through Vilya, Elrond could sense the twins' bond; and, though he would not normally have let Elrohir witness a scene like this, separating the twins now would likely kill Elladan.

If he were not already dying.

TBC...

* * *

REVIEWS:  
Legolas's Garden Light: I hardly ever write about the young twins... this is my first such attempt. But I may write more; they're such engaging characters! 

Anorwen: Hmm... well, that's one way to make a boring class more exciting! To tell the truth... I actually wrote half the last chapter of this story (which I shall soon post) in Meteorology class. And if my prof sees this... uhm, it's not me! hides

Viresse: Y'know, it's people like you who make me want to keep writing... you leave long reviews that tell me what you think about the story. Mara... yes; I feel sorry for her, too. I originally just created her as a reason to have Elrohir fight his first "battle", but she took on a life of her own, until the story is as much about her as about the twins. I remember being a child of the twins' age, and it's really amazing how much children can do, given the chance--not just elf-children, but human kids as well. We don't give them nearly enough credit.

Tinkerbell: Read the next part to find out what happens. :)


	4. Sunrise

**Two and One**

**By Iridia  
  
Chapter 4**

****  
  
Elrond's skill and Elrohir's desperate instincts meshed seamlessly, feeding strength and life into the small white body in the bed. They did not notice as Celebrian came in with healing supplies wrapped in the skirt of her night-dress, and she had to lay a hand on her husband's shoulder to get his attention.  
  
With feverish intensity, Elrond worked over his young son. All through the hours that passed, Elrohir held his brother's hand and looked into his pale face, giving him all the hope and strength he could give. The fear he had felt at first was gone; there was no part of his mind that was not trained on Elladan, and that left none of him to feel frightened.  
  
There were many times during that dark night that Elrond was sure Elladan had taken his last painful breath; but somehow, some way, he always managed just one more. Guards came to remove Mara's body; and blazing torches were brought in and placed in their holders on the walls to light the room; then replaced when they burned out. Celebrian silently handed her husband the supplies he needed, and sent servants for more. And still, Elrohir stayed with his brother, his small face now almost as pale as his twin's.  
  
It seemed an eternity passed; or no time at all; but presently the sky outside grayed slightly, and was touched with purple, then orange. The sun rose; and it was dawn.  
  
Sunlight fell through the window, onto the tired faces of those in the room, just as Elrond finally stepped back from the bed.  
  
"I can do no more," he said. "Whether he will live is in the hands of fate."  
  
And, indeed, the elfling lying there was barely alive. Elrohir, collapsed by his twin's side and still clasping his hand, was little better off. Elrond realized that, with their bond, the death of Elladan might mean the death of both.  
  
Elrohir, sensing his father's thoughts, raised his head from the bed. "Please," he whispered, "let us stay together." Though he did not speak it aloud, his father knew he meant, "Even if it means we die... let us stay together."  
  
Elrond paused, love for his sons filling his heart and tears filling his eyes. He remembered his own twin, Elros; and their deep bond; and he saw that his sons shared an even deeper bond... They were one, more truly than any other pair of brothers... one spirit in two bodies.  
  
If one died, the other would not be long in following him, whether he poured his life's strength through their bond, or simply died of a broken heart.  
  
"All right," Elrond said slowly. "You may stay." His voice quavered, and the tears spilled down his cheeks.  
  
New blankets and sheets were brought to replace the blood-stained ones; and all through that day and the next, Elrond and Celebrian sat by their sons' bedside. Elladan breathed shallowly, his labored gasps in perfect synchrony with Elrohir's. For two days, as Elrond changed bandages and spooned water into the elflings' mouths, Elrohir held his brother's hand; and for two days, Rivendell lived in a hush while both lives hung in the balance.

* * *

On the dawn of the third day, Elladan and Elrohir opened their eyes.  
  
"Ada," whispered Elladan.  
  
"My son," was all Elrond could say, as he stroked the small elf's forehead.  
  
"'Ro saved my life," whispered Elladan.  
  
Elrohir, as exhausted as his brother, managed a smile. "Told you I was going to be a great warrior," he said.  
  
"You are," Celebrian was crying. "You are."  
  
Elladan had a long recovery ahead of him; few warriors received the injuries he had taken and lived to tell about it. But, somehow, Elrond knew the young elf would live. His brother's love was too strong to allow him to do anything else.  
  
The twins had won this battle, as they would win so many others, together.

* * *

Epilogue 

Elladan's injury had weakened his twin, and sapped his strength; but Elrohir's injuries were not physical, and he recovered long before his brother. During the days that followed, Elrohir refused to be parted from his twin. After the elfling could not be persuaded, for the second meal in a row, to leave his brother's side, Elrond gave up and had a servant bring the food to the boys' room.

Elrond and Celebrian spent much time in the sickroom, reading to their sons from the big books in Elrond's library. And, as he listened to the stories of the heroes of old--stories which he usually greeted with enthusiasm--Elladan would have a rather thoughtful expression on his face, often asking why this Elf or that Man had made the decision to do what he had done.

During the day, Elrohir was his brother's chief supporter, joking and laughing when his brother felt well, and comforting when his injuries pained him. But in the night, it was different. Elrohir whimpered in his sleep, unable to shake the nightmares that plagued him. More than once, Elrond looked in on them to see Elladan with his arms around his twin, keeping the dreams at bay.

Finally the day came when Elladan was well enough to go outside. Supported by his brother, the recovering elfling made his way down the hall into the garden. There, they sat under the big willow tree that grew next to the waterfall; and presently, Celebrian came out with a tray of sandwiches, milk, and raspberry tarts; so they spread a blanket and had supper.

As the sun moved down to the horizon, Celebrian could see Elladan becoming tired; and eventually, she carried the protesting elfling back inside.

As Elrond moved to follow, Elrohir caught his hand and held him back.

"Ada?"

"Yes?"

"Did I... did I do the right thing, when I shot Mara?"

Elrond looked down at his son. He was so young to be asking these questions; but they would have to be answered.

"Yes, my son. You did the right thing, the only thing you could have done. You saved your brother's life."

"But Mara... Elladan says she was so very sad that she could not help being evil. Could she not have been made happy again?"

"Sometimes," Elrond said, "when grief and madness overcome a person completely, there is nothing that can be done for them. I think perhaps Mara was like that." 

Elrohir wrinkled his forehead, trying to understand. "But how does a person know? I have always heard the old stories; of how warriors killed their enemies and saved the innocent; but how can we know what is right to do, when it is right to take life?"

Elrond placed a hand on his son's back. There were no easy answers, he knew; and he would not deceive his son. "You cannot know," he said. "You can only do what you believe is right, and trust that Good will win."

Elrohir nodded slowly. "I shall, then," he said.

Neither of them said anything, both deep in thought. Finally, gripping his father's hand, Elrohir smiled. "Come on," he said, "let's go back inside. I promised Elladan I would show him the arrows I made while he was asleep."

Father and son, old warrior and young hero, turned and walked back indoors. Behind them, the sun set, and the stars shone, casting the garden in silver beauty. And somewhere, far away, a mother and her black-haired daughter looked down on it and smiled.

**END**


End file.
